


Ghost Stories

by ReineJuly



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Gen, somewhat-graphic descriptions, trying not to give away the ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5761711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReineJuly/pseuds/ReineJuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sync can't sleep, so he asks Largo to tell him a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost Stories

“Tell me a story.”

The break in silence caused the silver-haired man to look up from his meditation. The younger God-General was looking at him from his perch of the top bunk. Largo himself should have been in bed at this hour but traveling by ocean always left him with an uneasy stirring in his gut, something far worse than seasickness. Sync too must have been feeling restless after their defeat outside of Grand Chokmah, the constant tapping of his foot against the metal railing echoing through the small chamber. 

It was a sort of unspoken truth that Largo was the father figure of the younger members of Van's personal team, a role he had silently accepted when Asch was introduced to the Order and continued through to when Sync joined. He couldn't quite place it but something never seemed quite right about Sync, like his mind was at times either older and younger than his body. Certain things just eluded him, and sleep was one of those things. It wasn't unusual to see the boy wandering the Cathedral halls at all hours of the night and the next day he'd be slumped over his desk, the golden mask just barely hiding the tiredness in his features as his hand loosely traced a signature over a document. It tugged at Largo's heartstrings, as much as he didn't want to admit it, and he took it upon himself to bring some respite into boy's life.

It took some trial and error to find something that would make Sync relax, but Largo stumbled upon it eventually: Ghost stories. Anyone else would shy away from tales of horror that would haunt their thoughts through the night, but Sync _loved_ them. That wasn't to say he didn't know a good story from a bad one, but Largo had more than enough experience to know what spooked kids and what didn't, and for once Sync wasn't all that different from normal boys his age.

Largo shifted in his chair, turning to look up at Sync. It was a rare moment when he wasn't wearing his mask, though the older man could just barely make out the details of his face in the dark. His eyes reflected a pale red, almost pink, from the fonstone above the door, and they followed Largo around the room as he went to place his scythe against the far wall before returning to his chair.

“Once upon a time, there was a princess-”

“No!” Sync protested, the word coming out as a whine, more emotion than he'd ever allow in the presence of others. “There are princesses now. I want a _real_ story.”

“Very well,” Largo sighed, lips parted in a slight smile. “I heard this one years ago from a Sheridan woman.” In the darkness Sync wiggled around to lay on his stomach, resting his chin on arms crossed in front of him, legs kicked back and resting on the wall behind him. The usual position.

“The woman's great-grandmother was well-known in the town – it was just a village back then – for being rather knowledgeable about the Meggiora Highlands. She was a healer, though she wasn't able to use the seventh fonon. Every Remsday she would go out to the cliffs and return with a bundle of wild herbs that could cure an illness one of the village children was suffering with.”

“I could do that now,” Sync's voice interrupted. “What's the big deal?”

“Hush,” Largo simply said, and the room was quiet once again. “The healer's daughter, Maria, began to-”

“It's _always_ Maria.”

“What name would you prefer?”

“Jezebel.”

“If you wish. Now, Jezebel had always been forbidden from leaving the village and following her mother into the Highlands. When it came time for Jezebel to choose her path in life, naturally she wanted to become a healer and help cure others too. Her mother forbade it. Not only did she deny her only child, she stated that the knowledge would die with her.

“This started a rift to grow between the mother and daughter. Even as the healer became old and her hair turned white and her own health began deteriorating, she would make the trip into the dusty cliffs every week. Sometimes she wouldn't return until dusk, spending more time alone in the Highlands than you spend approving scout reports.” There were some light shuffling noises from the beds, no doubt Sync settling into the atmosphere. The moment a story is reflected back upon them, Largo knew, was when they truly began to be drawn in.

“Jezebel had been born late in her mother's life and she was still a teenager when she began noticing the length of her mother's trips. Time and time again she would ask to accompany her mother, someone to be there in case monsters attacked or she hurt herself on one of the crumbling pathways. Still, her mother refused and told her to never leave the village. Jezebel knew direct questions would lead her to no results, though her curiosity was burning to be satisfied.

“Finally, the date of her seventeenth birthday arrived and with it came sickness. Being the daughter of a powerful healer, Jezebel had never been ill before. She didn't know what to expect of the healing ceremony that her mother would perform on all sick children. 

“The next Remsday, her mother went to the cliffs as per usual. Jezebel waited at home for her, watching the shadows grow long across the floor as the afternoon came and went. Even after sunset, her mother had not yet returned. Stricken with worry, she dressed and went to seek out the town council who would be able to send a search party into the Highlands. On her way to there, however, she came across a small gathering of people dancing in the streets. 'She has done it!' they said, 'Madame Healer has cured the mayor's son!'”

Largo took a moment here to pause. It gave him time to take a sip of water but, more importantly, let the progression of events settle in.

“So even though she knew her own kid was sick, she chose to help someone else. Typical,” Sync grumbled, then looked up for Largo to continue.

“Yes, Jezebel was enraged. She returned home and formulated a plan. She wouldn't mention the hurt she felt that her own mother would betray her in her time of need. Instead, she decided to return the broken trust by following her mother into the Highlands the next week.

“The days flew by until it was finally time. When Remsday arrived and her mother set off, Jezebel too left home. Unlike what we know today, the weather back then held many more cloudy days and this day happened to be particularly overcast. It was almost autumn and only a few dying leaves still clung to their trees, whipping in the bitter wind. As she took her first step-”

“How did anyone remember that it was windy?” The small voice broke into the story once again and green eyes stared curiously at the older man in his chair.

“The wind was important. Sheridan is very dry and particularly so in the autumn months. Dust would be drawn up, completely clouding a person's vision – Jezebel's, in this case – and it wasn't unheard of for someone to fall to their death after taking a wrong step on a higher path.”

A quiet “ohh” was barely audible. Mentions of death were always well-received.

“It was a dangerous climb through the twisting pathways and though Jezebel would falter and periodically lose sight of her mother, the healer kept a steady pace. At times it was impossible to tell if the groans and squeals were from the wind blowing through the tired trees or the calls of nearby monsters. They had evolved to live in these harsh conditions, after all, and would have no problems hunting them down if they were hungry. The thought of being so close to danger made Jezebel question why she left the secure gates of the village behind. Revenge didn't seem like such a good idea after several hours of walking without food or water. Still, Jezebel no choice but to follow her mother upwards.

“It must have been late afternoon when the path leveled out and Jezebel realized they must have reached the top. The fading light was playing tricks on her eyes and a few times she was sure something had been following them. She had to remind herself that her mother, the frail old woman, showed no signs of alarm and therefore it must be safe. After all, she made this journey every week that Jezebel could remember.

“Finally her mother's pace slowed. Jezebel ran to take cover behind a rock so she could watch without being seen. The healer moved closer to the edge of the cliff, stopping only one mere step away from certain death when a massive gust of wind came howling from behind her. With a gasp, teetering on her tired feet, the healer cried out, 'But why, Sandman? We had a deal!' before her knees gave out and she lost her balance. With a cry Jezebel jumped out from behind the rock and ran to the ledge, but it was too late. She was only able to grasp air and see her mother's shocked expression before the darkness swallowed her from site. The wind died down long enough for her to hear the crunch of her mother's body hit the ground below.

“In shock, Jezebel stumbled back. She didn't make it far when her back hit against something that hadn't been there before.”

“Sandman?” It was almost a whisper, and the moment Largo liked best. The moment when Sync's cold exterior was replaced with a sense of wonder.

“Yes, it was Sandman. He took the form of a large boar with matted golden hair. Wrapped around his tusks was a long red string, stretching in front of his black eyes from one tusk to the other. The sight of this creature startled Jezebel and she lashed out at him, her hand catching the string and snapping it. As she did this, a blood-curling scream came from behind her.

“Of course, this would have been impossible because Jezebel's mother would have already died. Her curiosity took over her once again and she couldn't stop herself from turning away from the boar to peer over the ledge. There, hanging from a rope caught on a rock that had jutted out, was the dangling body of her mother, her hands frozen around the rope that broke her neck.

“'How can this be,' Jezebel asked, 'for I heard her bones shatter!' She just barely felt the hot breath of the boar, his tusks pressing against her back, as he said, 'You should know your mother wished for you to experience the future before it happened, so you could foresee tragedies before they struck. The sound you heard, my dear, were your own bones.' With that, Sandman pushed his tusks into Jezebel's back, shoving her forward and plummeting down to her death.”

The outer wall of the ship creaked as a particularly rough patch of waves hit against it. Inside the cabin, there was no movement. Even Sync's restless foot had stopped its tapping as he considered the ending of the story. When a minute or so had passed, Largo moved towards the beds and sat down on the lower bunk to take off his shoes. He was aware of the boy above watching him, though his eyes would waver to the side as thoughts swept him away. It was only after Largo had laid down and pulled the covers over him that Sync spoke.

“That was a good story. Sleep well, Largo.”

“You too, Sync.”


End file.
